A Rawhide Story-A Friend for Mushy Part 3
by Katie Zakrzewski
Summary: When Mushy and Cinnamon are wanted for murder, they must prove themselves innocent or hang


TIL DEATH DO US PART

I had just bought a newspaper in a town we'd been  
passing through, and I wasn't  
very happy when I saw the headline.  
"Uh oh,"  
I said.  
"What is it?" Mushy replied.  
"I'll tell you here in a little bit.  
Let's get outta here."  
We set up a camp a distance out of town and I read the  
newspaper article.  
"MAN MURDERED, FRIEND TELLS STORY BEFORE FALLING  
UNCONSCIOUS.  
David Scuttler, 43, was murdered in the street during a fight,  
his friend John  
Molar said before falling into a unconscious state he is unlikely to awake from.  
Scuttler suffered from a severe concussion, resulting  
in bleeding which lead to  
his death, Molar said. Molar was suffering from a  
condition that wasn't as  
severe and lead to his current condition. `They  
jumped us from behind,' Molar  
said. `Murderers.'  
"One is described as  
being a young man in his late 20s or early 30s with sandy  
hair, blue eyes,  
and a worn, billed hat. The other is described as being a  
teenage girl with  
long, curly blonde hair, green eyes, and being dressed as a  
drover. They are  
wanted for MURDER. $1,000 dead each, and $2,000 alive."  
Liars, I thought.,  
thinking about the fight and how Mushy had saved me. It was  
self  
defense.  
Mushy tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed, that  
look he had  
when was trying to put the puzzle together.  
"They sound  
familiar," he said.  
"They should." I replied. "Because they're talking about  
us."

We were careful where we went. I now tucked my hair into my hat, but  
my figure  
was hard to disguise, earning me a couple puzzled looks. Mushy  
could have gotten  
rid of his hat, but then everyone would have seen his sandy  
hair. But he loved  
the hat. I couldn't blame him. So he just tried not to  
stick out.  
But we couldn't run forever. Someone in one town recognized us,  
and as we  
quickly rode out, shots were fired in our direction. I was deeply  
grazed in the  
left shoulder, but kept riding with Mushy out of sight.  
We  
rode fast, and we rode far.  
Finally, we stopped. I had lost a lot of blood,  
and nearly fell off my horse.  
Mushy started a fire and looked up, then looked  
at my arm.  
"You're hurt," he said softly.  
"It's just a scratch," I  
replied.  
"You're bleeding pretty badly. Let me take a look," Mushy  
insisted.  
I sat stiffly down and winced as Mushy ripped off my sleeve. "It's  
pretty  
deep," he observed. "Maybe I could go into town and get something for  
it."  
"No," I said. `They'll kill you." It's a shame what people would do for  
money.  
Mushy cleaned out the wound as I winced and held my breath, and  
wrapped it up  
with my sleeve. He tore off my other sleeve because one long  
sleeve would  
definitely attract unwanted attention.  
"I'll stay up," he  
said helping me lay down. I thought about arguing but was  
too tired. He  
brushed the hair out of my eyes, and I fell asleep.

I woke up, feeling  
horrible. My head pounded, but not as badly as usual, and it  
hurt to move my  
left arm. Thank goodness I was right handed.  
"How are you feeling?" Mushy  
asked, rolling up the bedrolls.  
"Better," I lied, biting my lip to keep from  
crying in pain.  
I looked up and saw Mushy's worried face. I realized, for the  
first time in  
five days, that we could both be killed, all because of me.  
Guilt flooded  
through me, but I refused to give up. I touched his shoulder  
reassuringly.  
"It'll be alright," I said. "Let's get a move on."  
We passed  
a lake where I washed off the blood, and the cool water felt good up  
against  
my skin.  
Hours later we rode into town, and was greeted by the sight of  
gallows, and  
welcomed by a  
sign:  
GALLOWTOWN:  
POPULATION:203  
Nervously, we looked at each other and  
lead our horses to the livery stables.  
Thunder rolled in the distance. We  
hurried inside the bar, just as the rain  
began.  
Since neither of us drank,  
we both got sarsaparilla, and decided to get a hotel  
room. "But not here in  
the bar," I said. "We'll never get decent sleep. Let's go  
to the hotel across  
the street."  
It had started pouring, and the street had turned to mud. We  
started to run  
across the slick mud.  
Mushy made it. I didn't.  
I  
slipped, and half of me hit the walkway in front of the hotel. I was soak  
in  
mud from the knees down. My hat fell off my head and my true identity  
was  
revealed. I looked up to see Mushy with his hands in the air. What? I  
thought.  
I looked to the side for some explanation and was looking down the  
barrel of a  
Colt .45.  
"Well well well," the sheriff said. "Looks like we  
got ourselves a couple of  
outlaws."  
I groaned. It was true. We couldn't  
run forever.

"Let us out!" I screamed from behind bars. They had locked  
Mushy and me up in  
the same cell, with two cots. Mushy sat quietly on his  
cot, but I wasn't going  
down without a fight. "You idiot, we didn't do it,  
let us out!"  
"We're gonna hang you tomorrow at three o'clock," the sheriff  
said. "By the way,  
you have the right to remain silent."  
I paused. "No  
trial? What are you gonna do, use whatever I say against me in  
imaginary  
court? I know I've got the right to remain silent, but that doesn't  
mean I'm  
gonna!"  
The sheriff only chuckled. Mushy slowly raised his hands to his ears  
to cover  
them, and I let the sheriff know what I thought.  
"You son of a-"  
and I let the words tream from there.  
After a ten minute rant about how he  
knows nothing about the law, how he's a  
coward and so is his mother, I sat  
down on my cot and cried. Mushy sat down  
beside me and held me up against him  
as I cried into his chest. He didn't say a  
word because he knew as well as I  
did that we were going to die. And it was all  
my fault.

I had slept  
later than usual, and three o'clock came sooner than I'd hoped.  
They led us  
outside at ten til the hour, up the gallows, side by side, and  
placed nooses  
around our necks,  
"Anything I can do to make you comfortable?" the kind  
hangman asked.  
Don't hang us, I thought bitterly.  
"Untie our hands," Mushy  
said. "We won't run."  
"I know you won't," the sheriff said.  
We looked up  
to see armed deputies everywhere. He untied our hands, and my hand  
found  
Mushy's. the sheriff told the people what we had done, and I looked  
at  
Mushy.  
"Mushy?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I'm real sorry,"  
"It's not your  
fault. It's mine."  
I thought about my family, friends, and Mushy. Poor, poor,  
Mushy.  
"No it's not," I finally said. "You saved me. You wouldn't of had to  
if  
I'd listened to Mr. Favor."  
Mr. Favor. The boys. I'd miss  
them.  
"Mushy?"  
"Yeah Cinnamon?"  
"I-" I faltered. "I love you."  
There  
was quite, and I was afraid I'd said too much.  
"I love you too."  
I smiled  
weakly and squeezed his hand. "I'm really sorry about all this,"  
I  
said.  
"It's not good," Mushy said. "But I'm glad I'm doing it with my  
friend."  
Tears filled my eyes. Some friend I am.  
The church bells chimed  
three.  
The hangman tightened his hand on the lever.  
The sheriff  
smiled.  
And I looked down in the crowd. Wait. No. it can't be!  
There was  
Mr. Favor.  
He's going to save us!  
But then I saw that he had the same  
scowl on his face that everyone did.  
My heart sank. Then I realized  
it.  
Mr. Favor had come to watch us die.  
TO BE CONTINUED…  
Thanks to my  
family and friends for supporting me.  
Enjoy! Watch for Part 4 coming  
soon!


End file.
